Mutineer

CHAPTER EIGHT

''Is your da always like that?'' Tommy asked.

The drive home had been full of poisoned silence. Kris was grateful for any break, even if there was no answer to his question. Kris had had a lifetime to get used to her family. Tommy had been dumped in the deep end…and if Kris was honest, he had asked to be left out of the entire thing. ''What about my father's way of doing things are you curious about?''

Tommy shrugged. ''I don't know. Is he always so legalistic. I mean, if I told my folks someone was out to kill me, they wouldn't ask me if I had proof that would stand up in court.''

''My father would.'' Kris answered easily.

''Then your da really would assign you to HellFrozeOver.''

''Oh yes,'' she answered without a moment's reflection.

''His own daughter. You're kidding.''

''I need a drink,'' she announced, glancing out the car window and seeing her surroundings for the first time since she left her father's office. They were cutting through a corner of the university district ''Harvey, let's stop at the Scriptorum.''

Harvey didn't touch the car's controls. ''Miss Kristine, I don't think that would be wise.''

''And what have I done so far today that was? Will you tell the car to head for the Scriptorum, or shall I have Nelly override you?''

''I've had the car's security upgraded since you graduated from college.'' Harvey growled at her.

''And I've had Nelly upgraded. Want to see who bought the better upgrade?''

Harvey gave the car new instructions. Even though traffic in the university district was its usual mad scramble, the city computer found them a parking spot less than half a block from the Scriptorum; there are advantages to having personal plates bearing PM-4. The Scriptorum hadn't changed in the four or five months since Kris graduated. A new crop of freshmen had taken over the tables near the door. There was the inevitable bull session going at the seniors-only table; Kris heard ''devolution'' and was tempted to join. But she wasn't a senior anymore. And besides, it was one thing to argue for or against Earth when it was just a game. Now it was for real, and she was a serving officer who would have to face what the hard changes brought. Somehow the fun was gone.

Kris settled for a table in the professors' section.

Relaxing into her chair, Kris tried to see the place as she had for the four years of her college education. The diffuse lighting showed every crack and flaw in the fake-brick, wattle-and-daub walls. Despite the aroma of pizza and beer, the overriding smell was of students: sweat, readers, and hormones, more like a library than a bar. The thick wooden tables were scarred by students' carved graffiti. Across the room was the table Kris and her entire Twenty-fourth Century Problems class had carved their initials in on the last Saturday they met here; old Doc Meade had refused to talk about the problems of 600 planets without a beer in his hand, so they eschewed their classroom and met here every Saturday for a semester. That table was occupied; a dozen students had it covered with readers, flimsies, and keypads. Some were actually concentrating on the work, while several couples among them concentrated on each other. Kris smiled at the familiar scene.

''Whaddaya want?'' a waiter/student demanded with the usual lack of concern typical of service at the Scriptorum.

Tom passed the question to Kris with a glance. Harvey sat in his chair, back ramrod straight, his face a study in Topkick disapproval. He'd driven Kris to school enough times, twelve years old and hungover as a deacon. Most likely, he'd turned her in to Grampa Trouble. Now he eyed Kris with all the silent disapproval that any Gunny Sergeant ever put into a blank face.

That answered the question of why Kris took so easily to the Chiefs and Gunnies at OCS. Hell, she'd grown up with one of them at her elbow. Of course, she knew what they were thinking behind those blank, formal faces they wore when they addressed the future officers.

''I'll have tonic water, straight up with a twist of lime,'' Kris said. And Harvey relaxed just that smidge that was all the approval he would ever give her. And it was all Kris ever needed.

''I'll have a soda, caffeinated, whatever they have on this planet,'' Tom ordered.

''Same for me,'' Harvey said.

''Right, Navy,'' the waiter said, and added as he turned back to the bar, ''Aren't you burrheads out of bounds?''

Kris blinked twice at the snide remark. Of course they were in civilian clothes, but Tom and Harvey both sported the usual crew cut of the uniform services, and Kris's hair was a good two feet shorter and a lot more organized than it had been when she sat at Doc Meade's elbow arguing for this or against that. Kris almost stood, called the kid back, and gave him a dressing-down. That was what ensigns did to undisciplined ratings.

But the waiter was no spacer, and as Kris took in the Scriptorum with opening eyes, she was out of bounds for her kind. This room was chock-full of cloud dreamers who had no idea of the cost of their wild plans or responsibility for paying for them. Now that Kris had put her life on the line for a plan of her own making, this place seemed rather cheap, unreal, a waste of space. Almost, she got to her feet and marched out.

Still, Tom had asked a question, and he deserved an answer. ''Yes, if I crossed my father, he would get me assigned to HellFrozeOver, and I'd spend the rest of my Navy career there.''

Tom looked blank for a moment, then connected her statement to his question of five minutes ago. ''I can't believe that.''

Kris noted that Harvey said nothing. Again, that silence was all the verification she needed. She was reading her old man right. ''My father is a politician,'' she told Tom. ''I once heard him say that a good politician is one who stays bought. Loyalty is about the only virtue I've ever heard him praise. If you're loyal to him, he'll move heaven and earth for you. Break faith, and he'll damn you to hell without a backward glance. You haven't seen the way he locked up when an ally of twenty years changed sides. He didn't even blink, but that ex-friend never got the time of day from Billy Longknife again.''

Kris leaned back in her chair, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. ''The pressures on my father must be hellacious.'' A quick glance in Harvey's direction showed the merest hint of a nod. ''His threat is real, but to hell with that. I don't want to add to the burden he's lugging.''

Tom pulled out his reader, began flipping through screens. ''Maybe I can hitch a ride back to Santa Maria from here. Ensign Longknife, I'm beginning to think that knowing you could be a career-ending relationship.''

''If it isn't life threatening,'' Harvey growled.

Kris reached over and flipped Tom's reader closed. ''Get ready to march, crew,'' she ordered as the waiter approached with their drinks. As the kid slapped them down, slopping sticky liquid on the table, Kris stood. Tom and Harvey were on their feet with her. Scared he was about to be stiffed for the drinks, the waiter opened his mouth in protest, but Kris slapped down a bill equal to twice the cost of three sodas. That silenced him.

''My marines pried a six-year-old girl from terrorists last week,'' she said in a voice she'd learned at her father's knee and that carried through the place. ''But apparently, people who work for a living aren't good enough for this place.'' As the tables fell silent, she glanced at the one she'd sat at last year. ''You might add that to your problems of the twenty-fourth century.''

Everything worth saying said, she marched for the door. Tom and Harvey fell in beside her. In step, they quickly covered the distance to the exit. A couple of students were just coming in. They took one look at the phalanx bearing down on them and took two steps back, holding the door wide as Kris led her tiny detachment out into the sun, then they quickly scurried inside and pulled the door closed behind themselves.

''That was fun.'' Tom grinned.

Kris squinted at the blue sky above her, sun glaring down out of a fine spring day. ''We need to get Tommy a pair of sunglasses.''

''Sunglasses,'' the Santa Marian echoed.

''Yes. You're in my gravity well now, spacer,'' Kris said, turning for the car. ''No space helmet visor to protect those baby-blue eyes of yours, no suit between you and my sun. You'll need some sunscreen as well, you pasty-skinned spacer.''

''And why might I be needing all that?''

''Harvey, my parents still keep the Oasis at the lake?''

''And the dockhands still check her out each week to make sure there's no problems, though the prime minister and his lady haven't been on her for five, six years.''

''Their loss.'' Kris grabbed her fellow ensign by the elbow. ''Tommy, me boy, you are about to discover how great it feels to have wind in your hair, a tall ship beneath you, and a good star to guide her by, even if it is just to the other end of a lake.''

''A real-live sailing ship!'' Tommy enthused with underwhelming excitement. ''Any chance I could get Thorpe to let me hide out on the Typhoon for the next six weeks? My bunk back there is looking better and better.''

''Come now, Tommy, you've sailed the stars. Haven't you ever wondered how the ancients first sailed the seas of old Earth?''

''No. I never wanted to swim, either.''

''Have no fear, me boy, I'll hitch you up with a life belt that'll keep you safe should you encounter more water than you can drink.''

''Just what I've always wanted, a bit of cork and plastic between me and suffocation.''

''And what's a space suit?'' Kris laughed.

''Something I'm very familiar with.''

''Harvey, to the lake.''

As the car slipped into traffic, Kris took a moment to commune with Nelly. ''Do a planetwide search on Longknife and Peterwald, every contact they or their businesses have had in the last eighty years. Then expand the search to the entire Society of Humanity. Before you go too far, check Aunty Tru's computer to see anything she might have on the topics.''

''Tru's computer has very good security,'' Nelly noted.

''Yes, but you might find a file or two in a less-secure vestibule on Sam. Father told me not to talk to Tru, but I'm assuming that you and Sam are not covered by that.''

''Beginning search.''

Kris relaxed back into the car's leather seat. Even if someone did want her more than the usual dead that she'd learned to live with as the prime minister's daughter, here on Wardhaven she'd be her usual self. She had six weeks to decide if a certain boot ensign had more than the usual problems of a Navy career to worry about. That was plenty of time. Growing up with a politician in the household, that was one thing Kris had learned early. Time could change anything.

***

The next day, slightly sunburned but happy as Kris could only be when a tacking wind had blown the cobwebs from her brain, she and Tommy were in starched whites as Harvey drove them into the driveway circle in front of the Museum of Natural History. Its immense ballroom had been dragooned into what Harvey grumbled was going to be the worst of a long line of back-patting jamborees.

''May they break their bleeding arms,'' was the old trooper's fond hope. Tommy had done his best to duck out, but Kris had dragged him along, protesting all the way.

''What's there to worry about? No one's ever been hurt at one of these things.'' Kris assured her friend.

''Be my luck to be the first.''

''Not possible. There's absolutely no way anything can go wrong,'' Kris said with a confidence that evaporated as Harvey brought them into the drop-off circle. Several limos were already taking up parking spots there, including one identical to Kris's, except for the red and yellow paint dripping down its shiny black exterior.

''Whose is that?'' Tommy asked.

Gary, riding shotgun, pointed his wrist unit at the blotched limo and punched a button. ''One of ours, number four. Had General Ho of Earth today. I thought we had the anti-Earth demonstrators far enough back.''

''I didn't see any demonstrations,'' Kris said.

''So I guess we had them far enough away for you,'' Harvey drawled as he pulled up next to an even larger white limo that needed four rear tires to support itself.

''Who owns that monster?'' Tommy asked.

Again Gary shot his query at a rig, then smiled. ''Thought I recognized it. Not too many like that one. Henry Smythe-Peterwald the Twelfth's private battleship,'' Kris's security guard announced.

Tommy raised an eyebrow as he opened the door. ''And didn't you say no one ever got killed at these shindigs?''

''And didn't you say there's always a first time?'' Kris brogued right back as she measured the vast, hulking transport beside them. Body armor was light enough for unpowered battle gear. So what was all the weight that made that white elephant need four huge tires?

''How am I going to explain to me ancestors my coming before them with no descendants to carry on the family name?'' Tommy said as he stepped gingerly out and held the door for Kris.

''I'm sure your Blarney-kissing Irish tongue will come up with a fine story to regale them,'' Kris answered, dismounted, and squared her shoulders. While it was true that real blood was never spilled at these affairs, the political equivalent of the red stuff could run knee deep. Before, she'd just been Father's darling daughter, Mother's eligible debutante. Today, she was Kris Longknife, ensign, serving officer and medal recipient. Maybe she should rethink this.

With a shrug, Kris joined the flow of people moving up the stone steps of the museum and into the rotunda. A six-meter-tall, horned and rampant tusker stood in the center of the room, more a tribute to the taxidermist's art than to the actual creature that had terrified the original landers on Wardhaven. Most tusker habitat had been replaced by Earth-type flora; still a few herds managed to survive up on North Continent. The young Kris always considered this stuffed creature a thing of sadness. At the moment, it reminded her that today's power broker could end up as tomorrow's stuffed rug. And you wanted to be your own person. A part of her laughed.

The high-ceilinged reception hall was resplendent in tall marble pillars, rich gray rock run through with bright streaks of reds, oranges, and blues. The vast expanse of plush royal blue carpet beneath her white shoes brought out the colors in the marble and made the cool power of the immense room even more overbearing. What a splendid room for this moment's great to celebrate their instant of glory.

Kris took in the human company and found it rather shrunken by its surroundings. Most of the men were ignorable in white tie and black tails, tights, or trousers as they chose…and not always because they fit well in them. Mother had set the women's fashion with a floor-length red dress that took up a good four feet around her, flounced out by at least a score of petticoats, Kris estimated. The top of the arrangement ended way too soon for Kris's tastes in a tight, gleaming bustier that forced up what a woman had for all the world to see, except all the women were wearing them, and the men seemed too busy being seen to notice all the pulchritude around them. All the men except Tommy.

When Kris first put on the dress whites' high-necked choker, she'd figured it for a torture device. Count on Mother to come up with a worse one. Kris, with nothing for the bustier to force up, was quite content behind her starched whites. Unfortunately, the whites did not bug out Tommy's eyes like the bustiers did.

Mother held court on the far south corner of the ballroom with most of the social women, parliamentary wives and the likes. Father, for his own reasons, circled through most of the men of parliament and business in the northern corner. Big brother Honovi, still in his first term in parliament, was right at Father's elbow. He was learning the family trade from the best; Kris wished him well.

The east corner was anchored by a fleet of admirals and generals. Captains and majors formed an outlying picket line that seemed to shelter the big brass from all but the most insistent civilians. Kris considered taking refuge in their ranks, but at the heart of it was another cluster of family, her Great-grandfathers Longknife and Trouble. She had no idea how to handle meeting them for the first time in ten or fifteen years. Does an ensign throw her arms around an old general and give him a hug, or stand stiff at attention and throw out a brisk ''Good afternoon, sir.'' General McMorrison, Chief of the Wardhaven Staff, stood elbow to elbow with General Ho, the Chairman of Earth's General Staff. Around them was an unusually large contingent of other planetary staff chairmen. Somehow Kris doubted she had the security clearances for their small talk.

Resigning herself to the inevitable, Kris turned for the prime minister's contingent to see what official duties were assigned her. Before Kris reached Father, Honovi detached himself from the prime minister's elbow and moved to intercept her. Following in his wake was a new fellow who, judging from dress and crew cut, had to be a security agent. Kris smiled greetings to both. The agent actually nodded in her direction. Honovi launched immediately into the business at hand.

''Little sister, you really have the old man bent out of shape. It's worse than when you ran off to the Navy.''

''I do seem to have that effect.'' They exchanged a mutual shrug they'd mastered long ago for the inevitable.

''Well, I've got him calmed down for the day. What do you say we don't risk you two having a bit of a chat?''

''I could just circulate and smile and say a few nice words.''

''Very few, very nice words,'' Honovi emphasized with that irksome way that he had of making like he'd won Kris over to what she'd already surrendered to.

Kris came to an exaggerated attention. ''Yes, sir, no questions asked, sir.''

''Somehow, I doubt even the Navy can get that out of my little sister.'' Honovi smiled. ''And, Sis, I do appreciate what you did for my campaign. Even Father says, in his calmer moments, that you pulled my chestnuts out of the fire.''

Kris leaned over and gave her big brother, who was now a good two centimeters shorter than her, a peck on the cheek. ''Keep up the good work, Brother. Make Father happy.''

''I will. Now shoo. The more Longknifes circulating, the more hands get shook.'' He quoted Father's perennial demand, then glanced at each of the corners of the room not under family domination. ''Say something nice to that officer clique over there or to the veterans. You and I both know Father could use all the help he can get on his right wing, and what with your medal and all, it can't but help.''

It was nice to know how risking her-life was valued by her Father. ''On my way,'' Kris said dutifully, turning away.

''Is that the way it is?'' Tommy asked once Honovi was gone.

''You mean politics first, nothing else even a close second?''

''I guess.''

''Isn't it business first in your family?''

''Yes, but we have fun, too.''

''Tommy,'' Kris said, glancing around, keeping her smile firmly pasted on her face, ''this is a very politically rich target environment. It's times like this that my family does its business.''

''Think Harvey could run me home?''

''Just smile and listen, and nothing can go wrong,'' Kris said, tossing Tommy the minimum survival advice her father had offered when she was six. Opposite the active military was a collection of old veterans marked by their medals proudly worn on the lapels and prim necklines of civilian clothes. Since they included no family Kris could recognize, she headed for them, but her progress was slow.

''Kris, I hardly recognized you in that white,'' one of Mother's socialite friends called loudly. ''Girl, it is so not your color.'' Kris sighed and paused as a matron and her daughter sailed down on her and Tommy. The mother simply bulged the latest fashion in all the wrong places. Her daughter's bulges were enough to make Tommy's eyes bulge out worse…and she had either rouged her breasts or was showing a few more millimeters than even Kris's mother displayed.

''I was hoping you would organize our summer fashion show the way you did last year,'' the mother gushed. ''You do have such a way with schedules and checklists and things.''

''Mother,'' her daughter said, rolling her eyes at the ceiling, ''even you can see she has other things to organize. Or are they letting you do much of anything?'' she said, looking Kris up and down. ''You are starting at the bottom, aren't you, a pennant or flag or whatever your rank is.''

''Ensign,'' Kris provided. Behind her, a more interesting conversation was going on.

''There'll be no limit on the profit potential, son,'' assured a high-pitched voice, ''once we throw out that bunch of scared old ladies in petticoats back on Earth that have kept a lid on our expansion. They're bleeding us white, making us settle every barely habitable planet in their expansion zone before they'll let us take another baby step outward. It's embarrassing that the damn treaty strangling growth is named after Wardhaven.''

''Well, I know that sweetie McMorrison,'' the matron went on. ''Maybe if I put in a good word for you, he could loan you for this year's fashion show.''

Kris muttered something like ''Good luck,'' and turned away as they did the same. She found herself face-to-face with a rotund businessman who went as red as his tie when he realized his last remark had been made in the presence of the great-granddaughter of the man who, as president of the Society of Humanity at the close of the Iteeche War, made the treaty limiting human expansion his last achievement before retirement.

Kris smiled, offered her hand and, as he took it reflexively, she said without missing a beat, ''Don't you think expanding the human growth boundary four times in the last sixty years showed a lot of courage on the part of those who fought the Iteeche?''

He sputtered something, and Kris passed on.

''How do you do that?''

''Do what?''

''Keep track of all the conversations and switch from one person to the next like some kind of computer,'' he said.

''Well, for one thing, I don't forget my name every time a pair of bouncing boobs comes at me.''

''It must be great having your own nice pair to look at every time you take a shower.'' Tommy grinned shamelessly.

''Wouldn't know, myself.''

''I'd be glad to offer an opinion,'' Tommy said solicitously, then swallowed a laugh. ''Can you imagine the look on Thorpe's face when he gets orders to TDY you to cover a fashion show?''

''Don't even go there,'' Kris said, trying not to cringe visibly. All she'd done to be just a regular ensign would vanish if General McMorrison gave in to that biddy.

''Kris, what are you doing in the Navy? I thought you were headed into politics,'' came from Kris's left. She paused to give a young woman, who was actually dressed, time to catch up with her. It wasn't enough time, however, for Kris to dredge up her name. Kris smiled and offered a hand.

''I bet you don't remember me,'' the woman started. ''I'm Yuki Fantano, from up north in Tuson. You spent a week putting our campaign headquarters in shape for your dad's last reelection.''

''Of course, Yuki,'' Kris lied. ''How are things up north?''

''Hot as the dickens, and this early in the year, no less. I still can't get over how quickly you took that chaos and turned it into a cracking good show.''

''Well, I have a bit of experience in that sort of thing.''

''I bet you do.'' Yuki grinned.

''And I didn't know any of you, so I just started sweeping things up, and you were all kind enough to go along with me.''

''When is Billy Longknife finally going to admit we have to have import duties to protect our industries from the cheap crap Earth spews out for its bulging slums?'' Kris heard behind her. A quick glance showed two older men in concentrated talk. ''And look at all these women, gussied up like Brenda Longknife. They look like Earth whores. Maybe now Billy will support travel restrictions. Christ on a crutch, in a few minutes we're going to pin a medal on that Longknife girl for saving one of our kids from a bunch of scum from the Seven Bitches. A good passport system would have kept those crooks where they belonged.''

''If a Longknife did it,'' his friend assured the speaker, ''it couldn't have been too hard. After all, the kidnappers were just two-bit thugs. All the inner worlds ever teach their kids in school is how to steal old ladies' purses.''

Yuki blanched.

Kris shrugged, smiled, and went on her way.

''Why didn't you say something there?'' Tommy asked.

''Ever try to teach a pig to sing?'' she answered.

''I guess that would be a waste of time. So tell me, how did you turn the Tuson office on its ear so fast you impressed Yuki?''

''Just about anything is easy, Tom, if you don't care how successful you are or if the people you're switching around are ‘so honored' to have you. I learned that the second time I got dumped in the middle of nowhere with orders to make a bunch of strangers work together and help get Father votes.'' And joined the Navy so they couldn't keep sending me off to wherever their bacon needed saving. The military stays out of politics so, now, Ensign Kristine Longknife will, too. ''Of course,'' she finished, ''whatever you do, smile while you're doing it.''

''Smile, huh?''

''Yes, and keep smiling. I know these two.''

''Earth business is robbing me blind because of that ridiculous short patent life,'' Dr. U'ting, research professor of nanobiology griped. ''Just about the time we get one of my ideas into production out here, those thieves on Earth declare my patent expired and start cranking stuff out for themselves. The Rim is doing all the research, and they're not paying us a wooden Earth Dickle for it. I say cut them loose and let them rot.''

''We need a central patent law, Larry, and the Rim has been trying to lengthen patent durations,'' Dr. Meade, Kris's old Political Science professor, pointed out.

''And the last time the Senate passed it, that Earth slave of a president vetoed the bill. Hell, Grant, when was the last time the Rim elected a president? Longknife wasn't it. Oh, maybe one or two since, but so long as the president is a popular election, Earth and her Seven Witches will fill that slot, and we can't get a law through. As far as I'm concerned, we're better off on our own. Each planet for itself. We issue our own patents, we lock up our own files. Let those thieves try duplicating my work without my own patent application to rummage through.''

''They are the largest market,'' Doc Meade pointed out, taking a sip from his drink.

''And they have the largest fleet,'' Kris said, joining the conversation on cue. ''Back in the Iteeche War, it was that fleet that saved us. That and Earth's billions to crew them.''

''Hello Kris, I see you've done well,'' Doc Meade beamed.

''Just did my job,'' Kris answered.

''Who cares about ancient history,'' the other growled.

''The Iteeche Empire has gone back to sleep, and nobody's seen any sign of another alien species.''

''Thanks to the Treaty of Wardhaven, we really haven't done much hunting for aliens,'' Doc Meade pointed out.

''It's a big galaxy, and we've only touched its surface.''

''You're sounding like some Earthie with his head stuck in the sand.''

Kris nodded to Doc Meade and moved on, leaving him to the familiar argument. She was in a contest to shake as many hands as possible. A bar wasn't far ahead. Kris paused just long enough to get a tonic water; Tom finally got a beer.

Close on her right were the vets she had been working her way toward. They were easily recognized by the medals they wore on their lapels: veterans of the Iteeche War. These older women were probably the only ones in the room who had stayed with the coats, blouses, and flowing pants of that older era. Then again, Kris could think of no way to pin their battle ribbons to a bustier. The thought of Mother putting the golden sun blossom of the Order of Earth, or the Military Medal anywhere on her getup made Kris smile.

Several of the veterans returned her smile and Kris easily gravitated toward them. As the prime minister's daughter, she had spent little time with these folks. As a serving ensign, they welcomed her. They did not, however, let her arrival interrupt the inner circle's ongoing topic.

''What these kids need is a good war.''

''Too soft, too soft by a straight shot, I tell you.''

''A good war would give them some grit. Solid grit.''

''Look at them, all got up like a bunch of hussies.''

''Bunch of blind followers.''

''A good war would teach them how to stand on their own two feet.''

''And look who's leading them. That damn Longknife and his scandals. Bastard never served a day in uniform in his life.''

''A couple of hours with a good DI, and that man would know which direction to lead.''

''My DI would have given him a bit of backbone.''

''More than a bit,'' got dry chuckles all around.

A few of the insiders of the circle noted Kris' s presence; it was kind of hard to not notice her whites against the garish colors circulating around the room. Gentle nudges were usually followed by glances her way, but there was no slowdown in grumbling about her father. Tommy seemed ready to withdraw, but Kris just let it roll. Once you've faced an Iteeche warrior, a minor thing like a politician's daughter could hardly make you change your mind, let alone your favorite topic.

It was nothing new to Kris; she'd heard it all before. Even some senior officers, Captain Thorpe included, felt kids today were only out to make their first million, and damn the cost to the community. Duty and honor were lost on this generation and the politicians leading them. In some corners there was even a darker twist. The wrong people were running things. A good war would show the world who really deserved to be top dog.

Eye contact and a smile exchanged with everyone, Kris turned away. ''You know, I can understand why these old vets are the way they are,'' she told Tommy. ''It's a lot harder to understand why someone under a hundred would sound like them.''

''Could it be that you're kind of close to the folks that have it good?'' Tommy asked and answered.

''You saying I'm part of the problem?''

''No, just maybe too close to one side to see the other.''

''You in favor of charging out into the unknown?''

''Hey, Kris, I'm from Santa Maria. We are out in that unknown. But even there, some folks see it one way, others the other.''

''But we all have to live in the same galaxy. And somehow we have to do it all together. Any suggestions?''

''If I had any, wouldn't I have told your old da the first time I saw him?''

Kris studied the room. Mother and her henhouse was to her right. The military was ahead of her. Kris started across the room to see what she could do there.

And ran into Commodore Sampson and… ''Kristine Longknife, I bet you don't remember me.'' A slightly gray, middle-aged man, impeccably dressed said, holding out a beefy hand. Behind him, three, no, four security types that made the men around Father look actually anemic took her measurements, then went back to scanning the crowd. Now there were four people who weren't assuming no blood would be spilled here today.

''Hello, Mr. Smythe-Peterwald,'' Kris said, making sure her smile didn't falter. ''What brings you to Wardhaven?''

''Oh, there's so much going on. You can almost smell the future. This is where the real power is, so that's where I go. Once I get your old man past his family's bugaboos about limits on human expansion, there's a whole galaxy out there we can grab with both hands.''

''Last time we tried that, we ended up with Iteeche tentacles wrapped around our neck,'' came from behind Kris. She turned to find her Grampa Trouble, gleaming in dress red and blues, giving Peterwald a rigidly neutral face.

''The Iteeche Empire has been cowed for the last sixty years,'' Commodore Sampson pointed out.

''Some might say quiescent,'' Trouble noted, taking a sip from his beer. ''Their emperors never were much for expansion.''

''But humanity must expand.'' Mr. Peterwald said low. ''Nothing can limit us. Why should we limit ourselves?''

That was the essence of the expansionist party's position. Humanity the Magnificent. Given her druthers, Kris would gladly go along with them. But the Iteeche almost made us Humanity the Extinct. Kris kept her mouth shut.

''Yes.'' Trouble nodded. ''Expansion is necessary. But managed expansion can make sure that we're ready for whatever we stumble into next time. At least as ready as we can be. The galaxy is a pretty vast place, Petie, and who knows what's out there.''

''What do you think, Kris?'' Mr. Peterwald turned his smile on Kris. She tried to measure the sincerity behind it and came away with a plus or minus ten…on a five point scale.

''The galaxy's an interesting place, but I'm just starting to learn my way around it,'' Kris dodged as she'd been taught. Father was not going to see any sound bites from Kris on this evening's opposition media report.

''You sound just like a careful young woman,'' Peterwald's smile got even blander, if that was possible.

''Not a bad way to sound.'' Trouble nodded.

''Well, my son is with your mother's entourage. I hope you'll join me there later. I don't think you've met my son.''

''No, I haven't had the pleasure.''

''Well, maybe today.''

''Yes.'' Kris stayed put while Peterwald made his way, smiling and glad-handing all the way, toward Mother's side of the room. Without a word said, Commodore Sampson turned his back on General Trouble and joined another group of officers. Kris took the time to catch her breath and check her smile.

''I hear you done good,'' Grampa Trouble said, slipping one hand into a pocket and sipping his beer with the other.

''I got everybody out in one piece, sir.''

''You gonna start ‘sir'-ing your old grampa?''

''When we're both in uniform and in public, I think so, sir.''

''Damn straight,'' he said.

''How bad is the mess?'' she asked him.

That gave the old soldier pause. He studied the bubbles in his beer for a moment, then shook his head and glanced at Tommy. ''Not quite bad enough that I wished you weren't wearing that suit, young woman. I think us old farts who still remember what a real war is like should be able to keep the forgetful and misinformed from doing anything stupid.'' He sipped from the beer. ''I hope. What you drinking?''

''Tonic water, Grampa.''

''I still think your biggest problem was the pills your mom was pumping into you back then to make you a ‘nice girl.' I doubt you're an alki.''

''There are many things in life I don't need to know.'' Kris smiled at how gently he passed over what still brought her awake at night, cringing.

''Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention,'' caused only a slight lowering in the room's ambient noise.

''You want to join us?'' Grampa Trouble offered. ''You two are wearing the suit for it, and as I understand, you are our poster child today.''

''If you don't mind, I think I'll stay where I am,'' Kris said, with Tommy nodding rapid agreement beside her.

''Afraid of a few old generals?''

''You've got several galaxies of stars over there.''

''It's your galaxy, too, kids. Someday you'll probably be wearing your own constellation.''

''Grampa, we're serving ensigns. We are not cleared, and we don't need to know the little asides you'll be passing around among yourselves.''

''You're chicken? Hey, you've faced mines and rifles. You can't be afraid of a few old men and women. Or is it just the two of us your afraid of? God knows, with your family, you have a right to steer clear of your relatives.''

''Not you, Grampa, never you.''

He took her arm; reluctantly, she let him guide her around the room. Tommy followed with all the enthusiasm of a ship being towed to the breakers. They passed through the outlying pickets without so much as a bobble. Father was presenting the first couple of medals to artists and bureaucrats as Trouble rousted a pair of three-stars to make room for him and her at the elbow of Earth's Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. Kris stamped a smile on her face and took the vacated seat between the two generals as Tommy took the opportunity to head for a safe, quiet corner.

''General Ho, this is my Great-granddaughter, Ensign Longknife.'' While Kris struggled to remember she was the prime minister's daughter and had survived situations worse than this, she rapidly went down the protocol requirements: He's uncovered. I'm uncovered. Do not salute. Wouldn't anyway: this is a social situation. Like hell it is.

Kris returned his formal nod.

''I understand you did rather well by us.''

''I did what any ensign would have done in the same situation, General.''

''And don't you forget that. Being a Longknife, that might not be so easy. Right, Ray?''

Damn! Her other Great-grandfather had bounced a five-star from her seat on the other side of Ho. Just what Kris needed: a family reunion. She was still trying to figure out how to function as an ensign in a multi-star environment, and now she'd have to do the dysfunctional family thing as well. Oh hell.

''If she survives it, she just might learn a few things,'' Ray agreed.

The prime minister was going up the list and getting more long-winded as the recipients became more politically important to his party. However, the attitude of the military around Kris saved her from further reaction. They had been invited by their political masters, so they came. Still, as a mass, they sat, arms folded across their chests. Silent as embattled sphinxes, they faced out toward a society that did not understand them, rarely needed them, and pretty much ignored them.

As Father reached the end of his unmercifully long list, he announced that the last award would be given not by him, but by General Ho, thereby passing over Wardhaven's own Chairman, General McMorrison. True, Kris was serving in the Society's Navy, but the Typhoon was built and crewed by Wardhaven, and was, for all practical purposes, a Wardhaven ship. The prime minister was cruising for another lesson on the care and feeding of his own warriors…a lesson Kris would not give him.

General Ho raised his eyebrows a fraction of an inch, and the disapproving creases around eyes and mouths deepened a similar fraction among the generals and admirals surrounding him. Still, he made his way to the podium without hesitation. The master of ceremonies handed the general the folder with Kris's citation, then passed the medal to Kris's father. Kris had spent the last hour praying to every bureaucratic god in the pantheon that her family would leave this one to the soldiers who knew how to do it. All to no avail. Mother was sashaying onto the stage, her petticoats flouncing. It was rapidly becoming a bloody political circus. General Ho did not suffer political circuses, bloody or otherwise.

''Ensign Longknife, front and center,'' he growled.

The other recipients had glad-handed their way onto the stage, laughing, talking to Father, or even shouting at people in the audience. Kris marched, shoulders back, head up; her DI would have been proud of her.

General Ho read the citation in a clear, gruff voice ending with, ''Your actions, in the face of criminal acts and hostile fire, reflect credit on yourself and the Navy in which you serve.''

Kris blinked; in the past, such citations always concluded, ''and the Society of Humanity's Navy in which you serve.'' General Ho offered her the award folder. Behind her, in their ghetto, high-ranking officers shuffled their feet, a virtual scream of opposition to what was missing.

Kris sneaked a peek at the citation. The traditional phrase was there in black and white. General Ho had omitted it. Was this his way of telling his fellow officers that the green and blue flag was coming down?

The civilians, of course, missed this bit of drama playing out in front of them. They were on their feet as Mother and Father surrounded Kris. Mother, of course pinned on the medal.

''Well, dear, now that you've got your bauble, are you ready to come home?'' she whispered as she managed to put the pin into Kris's left breast. ''A miniature of it will make a lovely pendent. I know a jeweler who could place a few diamonds on it and make it truly divine.''

''Mu-ther,'' Kris whispered back, intentionally shaping the word to echo her fourteen-year-old self…and probably generations of girls. ''You don't just walk away from the Navy. They call it desertion, mutiny, things like that.''

''Oh, your father was just telling me this morning that the Navy has itself in a budget bind. Aren't they sending their sailors home early?''

''Yes, Mother, but I'm an officer. We're just on half pay, and they want us back for half of it.''

''Well, it seems to me that—''

''Ladies, smile for the cameras,'' Father ordered through a clenched-toothed smile of his own. Kris and Mother obeyed.

The ceremony self-destructed after that as everyone went their own way. Mother and Father had people to meet.

General Ho had a lot of raised eyebrows to answer. Kris went looking for an out-of-the-way chair where she could recover her naturally sunny disposition and stanch the need to order a real drink.

She had expected to be mobbed or at least respond to a few well-wishers. She found herself alone with Tommy and free to observe. The chasm between the civilian and military parts of the ceremony was as glaring as the differences between what they'd done to get here. The civilians had built, discovered, made things happen, all for the greater glory of humanity… and their own, thank you very much. Kris had damn near got herself killed so a little girl might live.

Kris shook her head. ''General Ho muttered something under his breath as he left the stage. Something about them being so far out in left field they didn't even know what game was being played,'' she said to no one. ''I didn't ask him who he meant, the audience or the generals, but I suspect I know what he'd say.''

Tommy looked around. ''It would fit both.'' Thus leaving Kris with a mental picture of trying to keep a baseball game going when the two teams never left right or left field.

Kris watched as her great-grandparents circulated, trying to manage an endgame for the Society of Humanity, striving to resolve the tension between two factions: one with an almost religious faith that humanity had to be one, the other insisting everyone had a right to do what they wanted. Still, after the split between them was resolved, there would be two groups in each of the new factions, one playing for profit, power, and the glory it brought, the other going for self-sacrifice, power, and glory. Games within games. Kris looked into the faces around her. How much game playing could the fabric of society survive?

Kris came alert as Grampas Ray and Trouble headed her way at the same time Mother did with a young man in tow. Kris hoped Mother would flinch away; Trouble was Mother's least favorite person in the galaxy. No such luck. Kris resigned herself to more dysfunctional family than anyone should have to survive.

''Kris, I want you to meet Henry Smythe-Peterwald the Thirteenth. You two really should get to know each other. You have so much in common.'' Right, Kris thought, and if I marry him, my father-in-law will quit trying to kill me. The hard look on Grampas Trouble's and Ray's faces as they took in the young man left that answer in doubt.

Young Peterwald, however, smiled sunnily and held out a hand. About Kris's age and height, he had the sculptured look that parents with too much money and ego gave children in these days of genetically manipulated offspring. Kris took the offered hand, but before she could say a word, her and Tommy's beeper went off in duet. A quick flick of the wrist treated her to, ''Recall. Your leave is canceled. Emergency circumstances on Olympia require your return to duty immediately.''

How's that for a reprieve! But Kris managed a frown anyway. ''Olympia, where's that?''

Before Nelly could answer, Grampa Trouble chuckled. ''Oh, that one. You've drawn a dilly again, kid. New colony, not yet fifty years old. Had a volcano blow on the other side of the world from the main settlement area.''

''Lucky for them,'' Kris drawled.

''Hardly. Massive blow, tossed enough gunk in the air that the planet skipped a summer. Total crop failure. Now, a current in the ocean offshore has gone missing, and they've been treated to the proverbial forty days and nights of rain.''

''They should wish they were so lucky,'' Grampa Ray cut in. ''They're at twelve months of rain and no end in sight. Looks like you'll have your work cut out for you, young woman. Starvation, flood, and, oh, yes, complete breakdown of civil authority. Bands of heavily armed and desperate types roving the sodden landscape, fighting over what's left.'' Ray grinned at Trouble. ''Yep, looks like the kid drew a nice one.''

''Kind of reminds you of the good old days.'' Trouble laughed.

Mother frowned. Young Peterwald shrugged, and Kris, despite the bad news, felt like a ton had been lifted from her shoulders as she and Tommy excused themselves.